Fumes and Ferrets
by Thalia Kendall
Summary: ''She was sure that Malfoy took insults as compliments, compliments as insults, and Death threats as flattery.'' 6th year Prefect Ginny Weasley and Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Divination, and snark. One-shot.


A/N: This was written for the lovely Sky Is Blue… fellow shipper! Snarky romance: my favourite genre. Hope you like!

Disclaimer: Blah!

~* Fumes and Ferrets *~

  
  
Prefects were hand-selected by their Heads of House because they embodied the best qualities of their houses, along with many desirable character traits that were important and beneficial for the duty: things such as responsibility, academic prowess, leadership, good people skills, and, of course, respect for others. And then, after two years of working as Prefects, the best boy and girl of each year were selected to be Head Boy and Head Girl. In essence, the _best_ of the best.  
  
Or so the theory went.  
  
How this all equated to Draco Malfoy being Head Boy that year... did not make any sense to her.  
  
It was bad enough that she had to put up with the ferret during Prefect meetings. It was worse that he no longer _looked_ anything like a ferret. And now... _this_ just took the cake in terms of "Draco Malfoy's destiny is to make Virginia Weasley's life miserable".   
  
Actually, let's just not even _talk_ of the word "destiny".  
  
For tonight, she... had been stuck. With him. In the bloody pseudo-Victorian gypsy hell that was the Divination classroom. Tutoring that subject. Crystal balls, teacups, noxious fumes and all.  
  
One of a Prefect's most important duties was to preside over tutoring sessions for younger students. Generally, a Prefect would select his or her best subject, and together with another Prefect with the same strengths, spend two hours each week holding study groups for those who needed additional help. Usually, this was no problem. Her best subject was Charms, and Malfoy tutored Potions. It worked out wonderfully, and prevented gratuitous murder attempts.   
  
However, this week, with a flu epidemic spreading around the school and no less than five Prefects in the hospital wing, they'd had to, at their last meeting, draw lots for who substituted for what tutoring session.  
  
And it has just been her _bloody_ luck... that she and Malfoy had both gotten stuck... tutoring _Divination_... of all things.  
  
If she had been a Slytherin, with said House's predilection for spotting out weaknesses and plots, she would have been quite convinced that it was all some evil conspiracy to land her either in Azkaban for homicide (or perhaps ferret-cide), or in St. Mungo's mental ward for... being slowly and steadily driven insane.   
  
She was sure that Malfoy took insults as compliments, compliments as insults, and Death threats as flattery.   
  
Bloody ferret.  
  
It was, at long last, the end of the two hours for tutoring. As the students started to filter out of the Divination classroom, Ginny gave a ragged sigh. Thank Merlin it was over! Any longer, and she would have screamed. And then perhaps thrown herself out the window.  
  
"Oh, but throwing yourself out the window is such an unattractive way to die, Weaslette... you'd be all splattered in the courtyard... a complete mess. We couldn't have _that_, could we?" A mocking drawl sounded in her ear. Ginny collapsed on one of the powder-blue poufs littering the floor and clapped a hand to her forehead, her hair falling forward and blocking her face from view. Blast... she had just spoken her thoughts aloud.  
  
"Go and... and practice that smirk in front of a mirror or something or... or whatever it is you do in your spare time, Mal-ferret," she snarled, refusing to look up at the young man standing in front of her, mentally willing him to leave.  
  
The ornery ferret didn't budge.   
  
Draco Malfoy was, in fact, enjoying himself immensely at Ginny Weasley's expense. Not that this was anything new, to be sure... the ability to find brassed-off-other-folk amusing and entertaining... was a decidedly Slytherin trait. And after a ghastly two hours in this place, he needed some amusement. Empty-headed twits... most who took the class were silly giggly girls who liked the 'air of mystery' surrounding the topic.  
  
If the 'air of mystery' meant the incense vapours, those girls must be addicts.  
  
But, for now... more pleasant thoughts and actions...  
  
"I don't have to _practice_ that smirk," he drawled, "I'm naturally gifted."  
  
"Gifted at what? Smirking? Sneering? Driving people up the wall? Being a snobbish little prat?" she retorted, glaring at him, "Can't you be 'gifted' in something _useful?_"  
  
"But those _are_ useful," he smirked, and she scowled. _Why_ did he have to pick on her? _Why_ were they stuck doing this together? _Why_ did he have to... to have the unnatural ability to look _good_, smirking? _Why_ was she thinking this? _Why_ was life so bloody unfair?  
  
So many questions... that she really could not answer. Did not want to answer. Ginny rubbed her temples with her fingertips, shutting her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, he was still there.  
  
"Why are you still here?"  
  
"Why are _you?_" he asked back, his voice cool and amused.  
  
"I'm waiting for you to step away and leave, so I can get out of here," she snapped, "So... go on! Go to your dungeon and your lunkhead pseudo-friend minions and... and just move!"  
  
He moved. A step _closer_ to her. Now, the toes of his shiny leather shoes touched the toes of her own scuffed ones, and if she stood up, they would be chest-to-chest. She fumed silently. This was... _damn_ him!  
  
"Does hacking me off turn you _on_ or something, Malfoy?" she hissed, standing up and poking him in the chest with her index finger, before springing back to bring some more distance between them, her face red with... 'anger'. His smirk merely widened, and he gave her a drowsy sort of look through blond eyelashes.  
  
"Yes. Quite. I'm very turned on," he purred. She stared for a moment, then picked up a pink teacup from the table and threw it as his head. _Damn him! Damn his smirk! Damn his voice and his... gahhh!!_  
  
But he merely reached out a hand and caught the teacup as it sailed towards his face. Shaking his head slightly (and causing several strands of wayward blond hair to fall into his eyes, damn him), he tutted, chuckling lightly.   
  
"Tsk, tsk... you should know, Weaslette... I'm a Seeker. Throwing small objects at me... isn't going to accomplish _quite_ what you're going after..."  
  
"Hmph!" she sulked, pouting slightly, "Well, I tried."  
  
His gaze settled on her lips, "So flattered to hear that you take efforts around me."  
  
The pout turned into a glower, "Sod off and stop deceiving yourself."  
  
"Temper, temper..." he lazily reached out, twining a lock of red hair around a long, slender finger for a moment before she slapped his hand away. He lowered his voice, "You forget... pissing you off turns me o--" The last statement wasn't finished, as Ginny sprang forward slightly to clap a hand over his mouth.  
  
He didn't bat an eye, and she swore she could _feel_ him smirk under her palm, his lips quirking upward, tickling her hand slightly, as a blond eyebrow arched. His own hand closed around her wrist, and even as he removed her hand from his mouth, he tugged her closer, none-too-gently, and she stumbled forward not of her own volition, bumping into him. Dammit, why did he have to wear a silk shirt? Why did he have to be warm? Why couldn't he be _cold_, like reptiles were supposed to be?!  
  
"Weaslette," his voice rumbled in her ear as his other hand, the one not holding onto her wrist, clamped down on her hip. "There are other ways of making a bloke stop talking, you know..."  
  
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open slightly, though in outrage or... something else... she was not sure. He peered down into her slightly flushed face, smirking to himself, before abruptly closing the space between their lips.  
  
He was not a sweet, light kisser. His hands reached around her waist and pressed her hard against him, not giving her room to escape. One hand slowly reached up to her hair, tangling in the red locks for a moment before angling her head slightly, as he deepened the kiss.   
  
And when they parted, she face-faulted. N...no... ... ... She had _not_ just been kissed by Draco Malfoy. She did _not_ enjoy it. She had _not_ kissed him back. No. Those weren't her arms looped around his neck. She was _not_ touching his hair. Really. It was... the incense in the room must be giving her hallucinations... yes... that must be it... and... it was also making her feel hot, and light-headed, and...  
  
His voice cut across her panicked, confused thoughts. "What, nothing to say, Weaslette? Well then... I suppose this tactic works quite well. Now that I've given you a demonstration of how to do it, feel free to use it on me next time you wish for me to stop talking. Mind, on me _alone_. I wouldn't recommend trying it on Potter."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"But this is such a _fascinating_ conversation. Or would you rather we continue it somewhere else? Perhaps the Prefect's bathroom, in something more comfortable? Or--" His mocking words were cut off once again as she took the initiative this time, stopping his mouth with her lips, rather than her hand.  
  
Her kiss was more tentative than his, her lips softer, fuller. At first, it was merely a press of her mouth against his, her fingers curving around his cheek. She was blushing, and he could almost feel the heat from her face radiate onto him, and a moment later, he had dragged her closer, and taken control of the kiss once again.   
  
She pulled away this time, and her dark eyes were glinting.  
  
"Well, how did I do?" she asked archly. _What the DEVIL do you think you are DOING, Virginia Weasley?! FLIRTING with... with HIM!! Shame! Death! Dishonour! Conniptions!Ron!_ She shook her head, trying to clear it of the screeching, hysterical thoughts.  
  
And he spoke again, grinning down at her, playing with a strand of her hair. "Not bad at all, Virginia." Her eyes widened at the use of her name, but he continued, taking her by the wrist with one hand, summoning their books with the other. "Perhaps we should make sure to practice on a frequent and periodic basis... but that's up to you, of course."  
  
She had yet to stop blushing, and ducked her head slightly as he handed her her books. He didn't seem to be expecting an answer immediately, so she quietly followed him out of the Divination classroom. Mutely, her thoughts running a hundred miles a minute, she walked into the Great Hall by his side... and there, they stopped. She would go towards Gryffindor Tower, and he, towards the Dungeons.  
  
He gave her a long, piercing look, and was just about to turn towards the Slytherin dorms when she, reckless, impulsive Gryffindor that she was, called out. Before she could regret it, the words had come out of her mouth.  
  
"Sure, Draco... practice sounds good to me."  
  
Much later, when she lay in her bed and smiled inanely at the canopy overhead, she reflected that she didn't mind smirks after all.

~* Fin *~


End file.
